


Sam's a little bit different

by 8BeautifulChaosGirl8



Series: The Life of Dyspraxic Sam [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Sam, Disabled Sam Winchester, Dyspraxia, Dyspraxic character, Gen, Neurodiversity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BeautifulChaosGirl8/pseuds/8BeautifulChaosGirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's sick of struggling but he figures this is just how he is.<br/>When it turns out there's more to it how will his family react? </p><p>Sam finds out he has dyspraxia</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam's a little bit different

“So tell us your story Sam. How did you first find out that you live with dyspraxia?”  
Sam swallows and rubs his hands on his jeans, hoping to dry the sweat a bit. “Uh. It was when I was 13. I got a book about dyspraxia out of the library…”  
………….  
“You know the drill Sammy.”  
“Yeah, yeah, wait here while you and Dad gank the thing. I’ve got a tin of salt, a bottle full of holy water, my butterfly knife and I’ve memorized the exorcism back to front. It’s a library. I’ll be fine.”  
“Alright Rambo. Just make sure you don’t drop the knife this time genius.” Dean claps him on the back and turns, leaving.  
Sam clenches his teeth, grateful to be left alone. His brother’s always bringing up how clumsy he is, making fun. Dad’s even worse, just giving him looks, berating him, calling him sloppy and unfocused. Truth is there are somethings Sam struggles with even when he’s laser focused. He tells Dean he prefers Slip-ons and Velcro shoes because it’s easier than admitting sometimes he just can’t get his laces tied. He’s lucky Dean does all the cooking because can openers are impossible for Sam. He checks himself three times in the mirror before he leaves for school because he’s sick of people laughing at him for having his clothes back to front or inside out. Every teacher at every school he’s ever been to, remarks on his handwriting, how illegible it is, how Sam needs to slow down, try harder, work with better light or whatever. One particularly obnoxious teacher asked Sam if he was even writing in English. Dean almost clocked him.  
Sam’s head is full of facts. He can read a novel in a day. He knows Latin like the back of his hand and can do complicated mental math backwards and upside down. But because he spills his drinks and can’t shoot for ***, his father treats him like he’s useless. Stupid. Slow. So he’s glad to be on research duty, much as he’d rather be at home working on his history paper. At least here he can dig up the creature’s hamartia and his father can give him that rare look of approval he gets once in a blue moon.  
He gets up to browse the shelves, shouldering the strap on his backpack. His fingers skim the spines, reveling in the feeling, in the quiet. He’s careful to go slow, to move carefully. He’d hate to be the one to disturb this atmosphere. His eyes drift over the shelves, he reads a few blurbs but nothing really grabs his attention. He knows he should be in the mythology section or better on the computers, looking up lore but he always grabs a little something for himself first. He hides it in the bottom of his bag and sneaks out of school at recess to return it. No one knows and no harm done. This way he can learn things for himself, at his own speed, things he cares about. Not cursive or some obscure fact about Middle Eastern daemons. Things that matter to him and only him. Honestly thank God for libraries  
His eyes light up. A new addition to a series he’s been reading. A nonfiction series all about little known kinds of disabilities. Sam likes these books. They fuel the dream of one day helping people without a gun in his hand. He fishes it of the shelf, looking over the glossy title.

Dyspraxia/DCD – a hidden disability.  
He sets it, and a few others, aside and then gets on with the tedious task of research. He types up his notes (he’s getting really quick at typing. He bet he could touch type if he was just allowed to practice. Or if he had the money for a computer of his own) and pays the fee to have them printed. Dad will bitch about the wasted money but its Sam’s dime and if he’d written them up Dad would bitch about that too so Sam’s decided not to care. Dean pings his phone and he hurriedly checks out the books, stuffs them in his bag and sprints out into the parking lot.  
….  
Sam cleared his throat and tried to sit straight in his chair. The leader of the group, Dr. Omar smiled kindly at him. Sam wondered if the smile was genuine or just part of her job as a Stanford disability support worker.  
“My brother read through it and noticed a lot of similarities between my childhood and the symptoms the book described….”  
….  
Sam rushes to get to the bathroom and in doing so, forgets the book he’s left lying open on the bed. It catches Dean’s eyes and he picks it up. What in the world… why does Sam have this book out? Hell if he knows, maybe dyspraxia is the name of a demon or a method of killing it or something. Dean smirks to himself and starts to flick through it. Sam’s not the only one who can read. Dean imagines his little brother’s face when Dean the grunt turns out to know some obscure fact he doesn’t.  
But as he gets deeper into the text this image fades and is replaced by tightening in his gut. Dyspraxia has nothing to do with monsters. It’s a disability. And the reason Sam got this particular book out is becoming seemingly clearer.  
Sam comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans, to find Dean staring at him. Sam’s heart sinks to see that he’s got his book in his clenched fists. 

“Dean that’s mine. Give it back.”  
“Why’d you get it out Sam? This has nothing to do with what you were supposed to be researching”

Great. He’s about to get one of Dad’s speeches about time wasting repeated back to him. 

“I got all the research done and had some time left. I just thought it looked interesting is all”  
Dean gives him the look he always gets when he thinks he’s being lied to. “Oh really? Just looked interesting huh? It’s not because you were trying to tell me and Dad something?”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Sam stop it. You got this book out as a way to tell me and Dad you’ve got this praxis thing.”  
Sam takes a step back and he can’t help the hurt that jumps into his eyes. “Dean that’s not funny. You know I hate it when you make fun of my clumsiness. Pretending I have diagnosable disorder is going too far, even for a jerk like you.”  
Sam waits to be called a bitch, overly sensitive, to be told he can’t take a joke. He waits for his brother’s face to break into a stupid smile, for a punch on the arm. None of these things happen. 

Instead Dean runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath. He’s realizing now that Sam doesn’t see it. That he really did unknowingly get his life story out of the library. The realization is bitter in his mouth. He knows he’s going to have to make Sam see. He knows it might just break his heart.  
“Come and sit down Sam” he pats the space next to him. It’s a testament to how much Sam trusts him that he actually comes and sits. Dean cracks the book open and starts to read aloud 

“Common signs of Developmental Dyspraxia in children are as follows:  
• Clumsy and accident prone from a very young age  
• Frequently bangs into things or people  
• Slow to learn to crawl and walk  
• Uncoordinated, awkward gross motor movement  
• Messy eater, difficulty learning to feed himself, and later managing a knife and fork  
• Slow to learn to dress himself and later have difficulty tying shoe laces and doing up buttons  
• Slow to hold crayons or a pencil correctly, cut with scissors and draw  
• Inconsistent ability to do motor tasks. For example he may be able to learn a new task one day but has forgotten it by the next.  
• Difficulty learning how to hold a pencil, form letters, print and write words  
• Difficulty with word retrieval — he knows what he means but cannot find the right word  
• Difficulty reading aloud (jerky , skips words, eyes may wander to the line above or below indicating a difficulty in planning eye movements)  
• Has good ideas but cannot get them onto paper. Ordering and sequencing of sentences and paragraphs takes too much energy, so may lose concentration.  
• Difficulty planning social interactions and maintaining friendships. May be able to make friends quickly but have difficulty retaining them.  
• Tantrums and meltdowns may occur more often than usual from sensory overload and frustration”

Dean closes the book and turns to his brother “Look me in the eye and tell me that doesn’t sound like you.”  
Sam leaps off the bed like he’s been burnt “I’m not some kind of spastic Dean!”  
“I never said you were”  
“Yes you did. You’re trying to make me believe I’m some kind of retard…”  
“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean grabs him by the arm and jerks him round “Stop it. No one’s calling you a retard, no one’s calling you stupid or slow or spastic. You’re Mr. Brainiac and you know it. This is not about you being broken or some kind of freak. This is just me asking you if this sounds like something that makes sense to you. This could be something to look into Sam. A way to get you help, a way to finally make the world understand you aren’t lazy or disobedient.”  
Sam’s eyes are glassy as he looks up at him but he doesn’t pull away.  
“Now if you don’t want to look into this, fine. We return the book tomorrow, never mention this to Dad and never bring it up again. But I can’t believe there’s not some part of you that isn’t curious about this, that isn’t looking for answers.” 

Sam swallows. Before this moment he never believe Dean actually noticed all those little moments, all those times he struggled and tried to hide it. To be honest he never would have thought Dean cared this much. And, loathe as Sam was to admit it, he was right. The stuff in the book did sound like him. Like every day of his life. And he did desperately want answers, want to believe that this was something that could be fixed, that it wasn’t just some failing on his part.  
It was this long held onto hope that made him stand steady, look his brother in the eye and reply “okay.”  
….  
Sam paused a moment, choosing his words carefully “And then my brother discussed it with my Dad and we decided we should look deeper into it”  
…..  
Sam absolutely refused to be there when Dad found out, which Dean supposed was fair enough but it did leave him up the creek without a paddle. Sam went out to get food and Dean was left with John. 

“Dad can I talk to you a minute?”  
“What is it Son?” John barely looks up from cleaning out the barrel of his shotgun.  
Dean takes a seat across the table from his father. Dean grabs an oiled rag and starts on his own pistol, just to give his hands something to do as he talks  
“It’s about Sam…”  
“If this is about letting him go to the soccer try outs…”  
“No, no Dad. It’s not about soccer. It’s about this book he picked up from the library.”  
“Something about the last job we did? Did we miss something?”  
“No the book wasn’t about anything job related. It was… it was about him Dad. About his clumsiness.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
Dean set the gun and rag down “Hold on….” He ran to get the book and opened it on the table in front of his father. John finally set the firearm aside and turned his full attention to the book in front of him.  
“It’s a book all about the condition called dyspraxia. I was looking through it when I noticed all these similarities between the stuff it’s describing and the stuff Sam’s always struggled with. You see what I mean?”  
Dean stood back and let his father read a moment. He could see his father was having much the same reaction he had. He wanted Sam to have a disability as much as Dean did. But better a disabled Sam who they could actually help than a Sam who was broken in ways they could never understand or help with. Right?  
John finishes reading and silently closes the book. “Yes Dean I see what you mean.” He put his hands to his face and for a horrible moment Dean thinks he’s going to cry. But he doesn’t. He drags his hands down his face the way he always does when he’s squaring himself up for something.  
“Christ you think things like these woulda been picked by his kindergarten teachers or something”  
“He didn’t really stick around one place long enough for them to get a bead on him.”  
“That’s true” John’s voice is heavy with regret. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice… Christ I need a library book to tell me something’s wrong with my own son…”  
“Dad we didn’t even know this thing existed. We just figured it was quirks in Sam’s cogs. Right?”

John is struck at how his oldest son speaks of them, as if they together are raising Sam. And by how true that is. He sits up straighter. He should have noticed sooner and he didn’t. But damned if he’s not going to do right by his boys now that he knows. 

“Where is your brother? Have you discussed this with him? Does he know you’ve discussed this with me?”  
“He’s out getting food. He wanted to give you time to process before you talked with him” Dean doesn’t add that Sam is terrified of how his father will react.  
“When he gets back we’re going to sort this whole thing out.”  
“You realize we don’t have medical insurance right? Hell we don’t even have a family doctor.”  
“We’ll get one. Someone in my network knows a guy who can forge legal documents. We’ll tell the doc we’ve just moved into the area, that our records were destroyed in a fire”

That last bit’s true enough. Hell the family don’t even have their original birth certificates any more, just copies. 

They sit in silence for a beat before both turn away, John to his guns and Dean to the kitchen to throw something together for dinner. He doesn’t pain himself too much over it. He has a feeling no one’s going to have much of an appetite.  
Both heads whip up to see Sam come in the door. So much for subtlety Dean thinks, going to his brother to help pack away the meager assortment he’s brought home. Candy, shaving cream and beef jerky. That’s all he’s bought home. Any other day, Dean would scowl and scold at Sam for this. But Dean understands Sam’s mind not really on the grocery list at the moment. His eyes are fixed on John who hasn’t made a move from his seat. He has set his guns aside though. The boys join their father, Dean taking the seat closest this time. Sam takes his gaze off John to share at his lap and suddenly none of them know how to begin this conversation. 

John clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Sam, I want to apologize…”  
Sam looks up and John’s gutted to see his eyes are glassy. “What?”  
“I want to apologize. For every time that I told you off or gave you *** when I should’ve been helping you.”  
“Me too Sammy. I’m sorry too”  
Sam looked from his father to his brother in stunned silence. Then, as a smile quirks his lips he whispers “Christo”  
John snickers and Dean bops him on the arm. Just like that the horrible atmosphere dissipates.  
“Shut up you spork. We’re trying to have a family moment here.”  
“In all seriousness Sam I hope you know that you have our full support on this. We’re going to go to a doctor, get the full 411, find out everything we can do to make up for all the times we left you struggling.”  
“Does that mean… are we staying here? Even after the job is done?”  
Dean smiles. Sam hates the constant moving enough that 2 more weeks in this dump of a motel actually sounds appealing.  
“Doesn’t make sense to go anywhere else. Save that we may have to find a nicer room”  
Sam could cry with delight.  
“I hope you grateful you little squirt. Now that we’re staying on I’m actually going to have to complete the homework we’ve been set.” Dean slings his arm over his shoulder and pulls him into a loose headlock. Sam fights back but he’s grinning. So are John and Dean.


End file.
